Wake Up
by Diary
Summary: Another husband of Mrs Zabini's is killed. Nothing really changes. Complete.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

0

Auror Savage's first thought is that the room is rather tidy for a teenage boy's.

Her second thought is to wonder if the boy was in any way responsible for the room's decoration. Everything is lavender, from the curtains and carpet to the furniture. There are no posters on the wall, though there are some floating pictures, pictures of the boy and his mother together, of his mother alone, of the household elves, one of him and one of the elves, and one of him and the other Slytherins in his year. On his desk are a diary, a wireless, several quills and inkwells, and a book on Transfiguration. His bookcase has curtains between the spaces, and his chest has a mirror, which turns black when she looks at it. His nightstand consists of a glass of what looks to be pumpkin juice, his wand, a lamp, and a pack of cards.

She opens the closet, finds the clothes neatly hung, a chest at the bottom, and a school trunk, his name engraved on the top.

Leaving, she looks down at the elf, an albino with pink eyes, who looks up at her fretfully, occasionally glancing at the sleeping boy.

He's tall with dark skin, short, nubby hair, high cheekbones, slightly almond-shaped eyes, sleeping on his back, wearing what looks to be a white nightgown. According to the file, he's fourteen. Nodding, she makes a motion, and the elf, giving a sigh, rushes over, helping the boy sit up. "Klinky," the boy mutters.

"Ministry business, Master," the elf says, producing a pair of fuzzy purple shoes from somewhere. "Car ride, please."

"Is my mother okay," the boy inquires, blinking.

"Mistress is fine; talking to the ministry," the elf says, trying to urge him into standing.

Yawning, the boy stands, holding out his hand.

They disapparate.

Savage makes a mental note of the boy's reaction. Brief worry for his mother, and then, complete indifference. Thankfully, the Trace is on him, and the enchanted car of Mrs Carmela Zabini Troyson O'Hara Ali Kennedy's is registered with the ministry; it can easily be tracked.

Moody will still yell at her, but Savage will stand by her decision. Potential witness or not, she doesn't want the kid somehow managing to stumble across his stepfather's dead body in the middle of the living room, a concern both the elves and Mrs Black Widow seemed to share.

0

Alastor Moody scowls.

Carmela Zabini smiles as she taps her nails against the table.

She's been called a beautiful woman. Tall and willowy, olive skin, dark green eyes, high cheekbones, and a generous bust, she wears her wavy, dark blonde hair in a messy twist. Currently, she's wearing an ankle-length green satin gown with white lace.

"Hello, Auror Moody," she greets, voice accented. "I trust Blaise is safe?"

"Your boy is currently wandering the Irish countryside," he answers, sitting down.

"Why do you keep up the pretence," she inquires. "I have diplomatic immunity, and every husband has been of non-Italian and UK citizenry. Even if you manage to prove your suspicions, at most, my son and I will be stripped of our British citizenship and be extradited back to Italy."

"That's where you're wrong," he answers, grimly. "Your son has dual citizenship. You don't. If I manage to get you deported, there's a chance your son could be ordered to stay in Britain until he's seventeen."

She shrugs. "Blaise is a very self-sufficient, and there's a precedent of house-elves gaining wardship over their dead or imprisoned owner's children, especially when it comes to teenagers. Klinky loves my son far deeper than a house-elf's loyalty to their owner goes. Now, we've done our dance; may I go? I promised Blaise I'd take him shopping for a set of dress robes; he's very excited about the Yule Ball."

"You know where to get your wand. Everyone makes mistakes, eventually," he warns, standing and pressing his back against the wall.

"True," Carmela says, standing. "I've heard about your appointment to Professor, Auror Moody. Defence against Dark Arts, I'm told. Congratulations. My son is very studious, very polite, and very talented. If he makes below an E, I will be owled immediately; by him, not by you," she clarifies, reading his face. "Now, if Blaise legitimately earned a lower grade, that's fine. But if you make this personal, that will be a mistake on your part. Why he wasn't a Ravenclaw, I don't know, but he certainly takes genuine pride in his intelligence and high grades."

With that, she inclines her head, and then, walks out.

0

Blaise Zabini wakes up in the back of the Buick. The backseat has been expanded to bed-size, and the windows are darkly tinted. There's a pillow under his head, and a blanket covering him.

Sitting up, he sees Klinky is in the front seat, playing a game of chess against the board, which seems to be winning. "Good morning, Klinky."

"Mistress is fine," the elf assures him, turning to look. The windows begin clearing up. "We're in Scotland."

"Is that ponce Kennedy dead?"

"Yes, sir," Klinky answers as he leans over to briefly steer the wheel. "It happened last night."

"I suppose she had one of you check to make sure the silencing charm she put on my room was in effect," he grumbles.

"Mistress loves her son more than anything or anyone," Klinky answers as the car stops in front of a public bathroom.

"I'm not sure Beings who kill other Beings in non-self-defence are able to love," he mutters as Klinky retrieves the toiletry kit kept in the dashboard. They get out and Klinky taps the door to the men's room with his nails three times. The sign turns from 'Men's' to 'Wizard's', and Blaise walks inside. Thankfully, everything's clean, and he goes inside a stall, locking it.

After he's relieved himself and washed his hands, he pops in a toothflossing stringmint, brushes his teeth, and has another toothflossing stringmint. There are showers available, but he's been paranoid about the idea of someone stealing his clothes since Flint actually tried that on Oliver Wood. It didn't work due to Flint being a complete idiot, but that doesn't assuage his fear.

"Kill to protect," Klinky says as he slides into the front seat, putting the toiletry kit back in the dashboard.

"True," he agrees as the elf turns the keys. "I should have said murder. Tell me, Klinky, how was the ponce threatening my mother? Me? You or any of the others?"

"Chess game?"

Sighing, Blaise agrees.

0

His mother is sitting outside, feeding the feral cows, when they get back.

Seeing them, she quickly gets in before they can get out. "You can change at Diagon Alley, sweetheart," she says, kissing his cheek.

Annoyed, Blaise climbs into the backseat. "Can't you just divorce like a normal person, Mother? If you insist on constantly marrying, get a prenuptial agreement. The 'til death' part isn't magically enforceable."

"Blaise-"

"It doesn't matter," he grumbles, looking out the window.

He's in no mood to fight. She's going to do whatever she wants, and he can't stop her. He doesn't even like the men she marries, but it would be nice if he could walk around the manor without wondering who was killed where.


End file.
